


Six Minutes to Midnight

by misura



Category: Dark City (1998)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Eddie gets the case.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Minutes to Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/gifts).



> originally posted July 2010
> 
> prompt: _Frank Bumstead/Leon Husselbeck, alone at the office_

When it starts, he _knows_ , feels it in his gut somehow - they find that first body, some poor girl all cut up with bright red lipstick on her mouth and dark red circles on her body, and Frank Bumstead stands in her apartment staring at the not entirely clean floor, listening to Husselbeck's voice all high and nervous and telling him nothing he doesn't know already, looking at Eddie as he walks out of the room where they found the body, and just like that, he _knows_.

Hell of a thing, really.

 _[01. Michelle Davies]_

She's blonde-haired and blue-eyed, like some moviestar out of an age not-so-long gone. Alive, he could imagine her having been pretty, attractive even, if you go in for that sort of thing.

The kind of woman men want to be seen with on their arm, the kind you show off to your friends and take to bed in an apartment not your home, because she may be your mistress, but she'll never be your wife; you don't marry that sort of girl.

Eddie gets the case.

"Should have been you, sir," Husselbeck mutters as the two of them walk back to the car, and Bumstead comes _this_ close to snapping at him, because honestly, has he even said anything to indicate he _wants_ the case? Never mind that it'll be big - big just means more dead bodies.

Eddie's got a wife, a missus waiting for him at home; if he gets a promotion out of this, maybe they can afford to trade up to a bigger apartment, start thinking about kids. Bumstead's got a crappy apartment, too, but at least he's not sharing it with anyone else.

"Think it's going to rain tonight?"

Husselbeck blinks, peers up at the sky. "Doesn't look like it, sir." He's not that much younger than Bumstead, really he isn't, but the way he acts sometimes, the way he _talks_ make Bumstead feel like he's too old for this job - or that Husselbeck is too damn young to be in this line of work.

He can't remember the last time it rained.

 

 _[02. Alison Montgomery]_

She's brown-haired and tall, and they find her less than a week (two days) after the first one. It's too fast, Bumstead thinks, too out of control.

The knife and the cuts - the way the bodies have been treated: these indicate a clear goal, a clear mind, however twisted and psychotic. Not a crime of passion, this, although there must be some kind of passion behind it, Bumstead thinks and Eddie tells the press - some mad kind of passion, driving a man to kill that which he may have desired mere moments ago.

"If I may ask, sir, have you ever - ?" and Husselbeck's cheeks flush as he doesn't quite get the rest of that sentence out.

They're alone, mostly: Eddie's still at work in his office, going over the transcripts of today's interviews with Alison's neighbors, friends, clients - no family, it seems; just a few distant relatives.

"Once," Bumstead says. He thought he'd be able to control it then, to deny it out of existence, this feeling he knows has no place in his work, in his _life_.

He was wrong.

"Was it - " Husselbeck begins, then halts again and this time, Bumstead isn't quite sure of the part that's remained unspoken. _'Was it good?'_ might be an option - _'was it expensive?'_ , perhaps, because Husselbeck is young and unmarried - _'was it what you expected it to be?'_ , possibly, since Husselbeck has these insights every now and then that give Bumstead hope.

There used to be days when he went home before dark.

 

 _[03. Samantha Richards]_

Strawberry-blonde and petite and looking like someone's little sister. No connection to the other victims, except for what she does for a living.

It's been two weeks since they've found the first victim, twelve days since the second one. If there's a pattern, a calendar their killer is sticking to, it's beyond Bumstead, because never mind that it's not his case; he's Eddie's friend, and if a man can't help out a friend every now and then, well, then Bumstead'd just as soon turn in his badge, is what.

Husselbeck sputters about the lack of other cases. Bumstead ignores him, mostly, or tries to, but there's something in Husselbeck's continued following him around that touches him in some way, makes him feel bad for trying to get rid of the kid even if he knows no good can come of letting this ... _thing_ go on for much longer.

"Worships the ground you walk on, Frank." Eddie's lack of sympathy is no surprise. He doesn't _know_ , of course; doesn't know this could so easily go beyond hero-worship if Bumstead would let it.

"More like he's too busy staring at the ground to notice anything useful," Bumstead grouches. "How's that check into Montgomery's aunt coming along, anyway?"

Eddie shrugs. "Haven't heard back yet. These things take time."

Bumstead snorts. Last time he tried to contact someone out of town for a case, it took about a month - and even then he only got a note informing him the person in question had moved to parts unknown.

 

 _[04. Kathleen O'shea]_

Auburn hairs the color of leaves in autumn and empty green eyes. There's a faint smell of pine in the bathroom that makes Bumstead feel angry for no reason at all - except that yes, he's getting really pissed off at this ... this _killer_ who is still out there, possibly already selecting his next victim.

"Circles," Eddie says, drawing on his notepad and looking pensive. "They mean something."

"Hard to get them so perfect on a human body." Putting it mildly, Bumstead knows; the victims can't possibly still have been alive when the cuts were made. A small mercy, under the circumstances.

"Round and round and round," Eddie mumbles, pencil scratching - Husselbeck looks at him in a way that's enough for Bumstead to grab his arm and drag him out of there, before he can open his mouth.

"It's a cop thing," he says, when they're in the car. "You just get caught up in your own thoughts sometimes." Those people the chief inspector refers to as 'the public' want to see a killer in chains; they want the streets to be safe again - not so much for themselves as for those whom they can't meet anywhere else. It's less honest concern and more a sense of being denied their amusement.

Makes Bumstead a bit disgusted. Eddie, too, he thinks. Husselbeck's still too impressed by rank, too blinded by his ideals.

"They say someone else should be on this case," and if Bumstead hadn't known Husselbeck's just repeating what other people have told him, he thinks he might have lost his temper.

Instead, he just scoffs. "You want to tell me Eddie's not pulling his weight on this case?"

"He hasn't found the killer yet." Husselbeck's tone is a little sullen.

Bumstead's been young once, too; he probably wasn't any less annoying then.

 

 _[05. Simone Shaunessy]_

A brunette, not particularly tall, and Eddie's face is pale and drawn as he surveys the room. The lack of clues, of any kind of evidence at all bothers Bumstead; it shouldn't be possible for someone to kill five young women and yet not leave a trace of himself behind at the scenes of his crimes.

It's late when they leave the apartment - dark already, and Bumstead feels tired - of this damn case they can't seem to crack, of working late all the time, of Husselbeck always being there, waiting for him like a dog or something like that. (Eddie's wife waits up for him, he knows; Eddie's told him so, but that's _different_ , that's _love_ , that is; they're _married_.)

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, sir," Husselbeck says quickly, predictably, when Bumstead brings up the subject, and then he smiles, all sincere and _shy_ , obviously wanting to please, and Bumstead wonders why he even bothers trying.

Nine months haven't changed one damn thing, except that Eddie seems to be look worse every time Bumstead sees him, and Bumstead realizes that really, he's not so much tired of Husselbeck as he is of having to hold himself back, of keeping himself in check, of forever being _careful_.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he just ... stopped, for a while. See what happens. He can stop later, if it goes wrong, before it's too late. He's got some space to work with here, surely.

"How about we get a cup of coffee?" He feels more like having a drink, but that's probably not such a great idea, considering.

Getting drunk never solves anything anyway; he's still got the weddingband to prove that, somewhere, even if his former wife's face has faded from his memories almost completely by now.

 

 _[06. Beth Mulligan]_

Red-haired and with some ... unusual props on display in her bedroom, which Bumstead suspects isn't the place where she usually slept. It's a stage, that bedroom, making promises that were probably kept, for the right amount of money. Bumstead judges neither the woman nor her clients.

Many people would consider her less despicable than they would him. At least her clients were all male, to judge by her little black book, for all that they displayed a taste for playing at submission, playing at being punished for who knows what offenses. Cheating on their wives, perhaps.

Husselbeck kisses the way he talks - shyly. It's not a bad feeling, to be kissed like that, although Bumstead knows it will start to wear on him at some point, the way Husselbeck's talking does even now. There is an attraction in confidence, in skill; it may well be what draws Husselbeck to Bumstead.

Eddie doesn't seem to have noticed any change in either of them. The case - _this_ case - seems to be consuming him, and Bumstead knows he should be worried, knows this is the kind of case that can make or break - not merely a career, but a _man_ , too.

It's a poor time for a man to leave his friend to fend for himself, be he married or not.

"Sir?" Husselbeck looks hopeful, and Bumstead wonders how anyone can not see their true relationship.

Eddie is still muttering to himself, furiously scribbling on his notepad. Bumstead considers snapping him out of it, grabbing his notepad, perhaps, since a simple comment is unlikely to suffice.

He feels like a coward for giving in, for choosing the easiest way. "Eddie? Anything I can do here?"

Eddie shakes his head, possibly in reply to Bumstead's question, although probably not.

Husselbeck takes his hand as they descend the stairs to the victim's apartment, his skin soft and warm, and even in the poor light, Bumstead can see the flush on his cheeks.

There's an alley next to the apartment building, poorly lit, and for a moment, Bumstead considers pressing Husselbeck against the wall there and then - he knows there would be no protests, no objections of any kind, but the wall looks dirty, and he thinks it would leave him feeling dirty as well, to do such a thing. His own apartment may be small, only at least it's clean, and it's not that far.

With any luck, they will be able to get there before midnight.


End file.
